I found this in my written notes – it was not destroyed with the other Maggie/Kate stories when puter crashed. Thought it would be a good one shot on Snape's POV before term of Harry's fourth year (GOF). Disclaimer: Snape belongs to J.K. Rowlings.
A Night Like So Many Others
Professor Severus Snape stared at the slowly fading phantom mark over the campgrounds. The picture, dark and gloomy, in the Daily Prophet, matched the mood of the professor. The flames in the hearth could not warm the depth of ice that surrounding Snape's heart, the fire whiskey that burned his throat did not melt it either. Snape was oblivious to both. His mind was raging with the memories of that mark and of the activities that usually followed its appearance. It had begun.
How long had it been? How long since he consciously thought about it? He knew this day would come. His night terrors had diminished over the past twelve or so years. The nights when he had awakened wrapped in the sweat-drenched sheets had grown less and less. The images of horror had almost disappeared from his waking hours. The remembrance of the pain and torture were ebbing as were the fading scars on his body.
When Potter first came to Hogwarts and his claim of seeing Voldemort, the old feelings surfaced. He waited. Nothing. Nothing at all came of it then. It was never a matter of if it would happen, but when.
Professor Snape picked up the paper again. Crushing it, he hurled it into the fire. So let it began.
What will he do? How will this change his life? Until he feels the burning of his arm, he could and would continue as he had for the last decade. He would be the potions teacher at Hogwarts. He would be the night storm students would face in the hallways. He would be cold, calculating and in control.
He poured another fire whiskey, welcoming the burning sensation. He smirked. At least there were three days until he would have to look upon Potter or any other dunderhead for that matter. Three quiet days to finish the potions for Pomphrey, finish his class preparations and savor the calm which would not come again for a very long time.
The flames of the fire turned green under his glare and a small parchment flew out unscorched, landing on the table next to the whiskey bottle. It bounced and continued to hit the side of the bottle, trying to gain the attention of the professor. Failing, it began circling the man's head in a noisy parade.
Snape snatched the pesky note, ripped it open. Now what?
Dumbledore. Bloody Hell. It has begun.